


A Personal Affair

by prettyshiroic (kcgane)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Belonging, Bom!Lotor, M/M, Training, in which kolivan and lotor have the most sophisticated sass-off i've ever seen, it's the best, keitor secret santa, kolivan's sense of humour is iconic, lotor is completely fascinated and mesmerised by keith honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 14:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13149093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcgane/pseuds/prettyshiroic
Summary: Above all, every fibre of Keith is absolutely fascinating. He is a puzzle waiting to be solved. More, he yearns to be understood.Keith is perhaps one of the greatest mysteries Lotor has ever encountered.-OR: Training their new blade - that's all Kolivan asked of him. It's not a personal affair. That is, until Lotor realises he's in far deeper than expected...





	A Personal Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reyson](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Reyson).
  * Translation into English available: [Личные обстоятельства](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913825) by [Mey_Chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mey_Chan/pseuds/Mey_Chan), [SollyDoll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SollyDoll/pseuds/SollyDoll)



> Happy holidays! Here is my Keitor secret santa gift! The prompt was: "Lotor always having been in the BOM and helping Keith train or learn about his Galra half." 
> 
> Here we go!

Kolivan stands firm as Lotor steps into the conference room. The dim green light casts his silhouette, dragging his shadow across the floor. Lotor doesn’t step into it, rather he purposefully walks around it. He’s fallen into enough shadows, chased enough figures painted by them in his life. He will not be coaxed into that darkness, nor persuaded to pursue it.

“An exposed back simply leaves greater exposure for a betrayal,” Lotor offers as his greeting to the revered leader of the Blades. The words are succinct, laced with misplaced mirth.

Unsheathing words is something innate to Lotor, a fine art requiring finesse and masterful precision. The opportunity to employ this skill is never brushed aside. Besides, it’s audacious to stand so confidently in any room. There’s a complacency about such a simple gesture, an admittance of familiarity when the variables may well change without warning. All it takes is a well-executed strike, be it from a sword that drives forwards or a blade flicking up and slicing through skin.

From experience, Lotor has learnt that turning one’s back is a mistake that could prove to be costly.

Yet still, with Kolivan this gesture is transformed. It’s a statement of solidarity, not at all hollow. Lotor admires how this is a strength rather than an inherent weakness. Kolivan can deliver something believable, and so he does. Standing this way doesn’t represent trust for Lotor, more an affirmation of assurance in his choices.

“I’d advise you work on your discretion,” Kolivan concedes. He sounds serious. Though as Lotor approaches, he catches sight of the wry curve in those lips. “Announcing your intentions is counterintuitive.”

It’s a joke. Though also, it’s a rarity. Kolivan seldom indulges Lotor this way. If anything, that makes it all the more interesting - it means this conversation is leading somewhere he cannot hope to predict. That simply engages Lotor further.

“Ah, but perhaps it is you who betrays me. Not by the blade, it is your insinuations that wound me.”

“I’m sure you’ll recover.”

Lotor’s lips slither around a growing smirk. “I already have.”

Kolivan’s hands fold behind his back. His expression _betrays_ not even an inch of amusement. “Not allowing the appropriate time for your wounds to heal is ill-advised.”

“And as ever, you are the very model of circumspection.”

If there’s one thing Lotor has come to learn about this institution, it’s that the Blade of Marmora is calculated and riddled with caution. Against the backdrop of a war they have next to no chance of winning in these circumstances - even _with_ Voltron - it makes sense. Lives are lost with each passing day in the rebel alliance. Preservation proves to be just as important as the preparation to make an attack.

Lotor respects that Kolivan leads his agents with diligence and care. In turn, chances are seldom taken as a result. And in the face of that truth, Lotor has become an exception to that rule.

After all, nothing about accepting the _son of Zarkon,_ an estranged Prince of the empire, is rational or without risk. Yet after his trial, Kolivan had done just that. Masked by the suit, Lotor had even assisted Voltron with their plans to deal a crushing blow on the empire. For the most part, that plan had been a success. In the aftermath, however, the search for Prince Lotor had become ever more pressing. As his father’s condition deteriorated, the empire had even put out a bounty.

From that point on, Voltron and the rebellion became fully aware that Zarkon has a son. They remain _unaware_ of his whereabouts, granted, but Lotor dances closer to the edge of his own undoing each day. It’s a restrictive sort of existence within the Blade of Marmora. Here he loiters in the midsts of a stirring revolution, yearning to regather favour where possible whilst knowing that is entirely off-limits.

Time is against him. The universe is set against him too. And if the members of this organisation were to be fully aware of his identity, they would undoubtedly work against him simply due to his parentage.

It wouldn’t be the first time people had turned their weapons on him.

His first attempt at breaking from the empire many years ago had quickly dissolved into disaster. He’d been young, a little naive and unspeakably rash in making a big decision. In hindsight, he doesn’t begrudge his former comrades for their actions.

War encourages people to make choices, forces them into corners. It’s unyielding - a creature of chaos, not compromise. Eliminating Narti, a spy within his private resistance that had been brewing from within the empire, had been a bold move that split apart the fabric weaving them together.

Expecting things to remain the same had been his biggest oversight.

Pressing his eyes shut, Lotor inhales a breath. Behind his eyelids, the memories burst into fruition. That’s an oversight on a smaller scale: allowing himself to reflect on the errs of years that have passed.

That time has been and gone. And for as long as he can remember, the Blade of Marmora has become the place he can call a refuge. It’s not quite a home. Then again, neither was the empire. Of all things, Lotor refuses to be chained to his past, fashioned from shortcomings.

“You requested to see me, Kolivan?” His eyes snap open.

Kolivan turns to acknowledge Lotor. There’s a heaviness beneath those yellow eyes that will not subside. No matter the angle Lotor approaches, dark circles linger. Whilst being sincere in his concern, Lotor holds it at bay. This is no place for emotions to take hold. Averting his gaze, perhaps realising he has revealed too much, Kolivan continues.

“Keith will be taking residence here as a permanent blade.”

_Keith._

“Hm, that is certainly an unforeseen development.” Lotor strives to be cryptic, _unaffected._ In reality, he’s already overwhelmingly invested just by the mere mention of Keith. The eyebrow Kolivan raises suggests the guise is embarrassingly transparent. Still, Lotor persists. “So he is a paladin of Voltron no more...”

“The circumstances are unimportant.” The frown etched into Kolivan’s lips says otherwise.

Lotor’s fingers swoop across his belt, considering his options. Kolivan is playing an evasion game. Then again, they both are to some extent. To get answers, Lotor will have to be more direct. He refuses to ask outright, despite the curiosity simmering beneath his skin. Keeping informed of the situation is paramount, but not at the expense of his own being or dignity. If he has to pry it delicately from Kolivan by treading through a series of elaborate hoops, so be it. He will do it.

Because ultimately, Lotor knows that if there’s one person who has the potential to completely turn this entire situation on its head, _it’s Keith_.

“With all due respect Kolivan, I disagree.”

“Is that so?”

Somehow, despite never failing to see the calculated coyness behind Lotor’s words, Kolivan doesn’t bite. Never in this context does he yield to it. Their occasional sparring with words gives no real insight to Kolivan beyond his elusive sense of humour. _That’s not enough_. Especially since he has a desire to discover what exactly it would take for Kolivan’s composure to shatter entirely - simply for observational purposes and private study, of course. The true enemy lies beyond the Blade of Marmora.

Kolivan had welcomed him here. Despite completing the trial and following the rules, there had been no obligation for Kolivan to accept Lotor once discovering who he really was. To this day, Lotor struggles to unpick the reasons behind that decision.

“Without all the necessary parts of this _gripping tale_ , I’m afraid I may not be able to competently carry out my duties.” _Whatever they are._

“You appear to be confused. This is not a personal affair,” Kolivan replies, and it’s with such haste that Lotor finds his interest piqued. “Antok’s duties need tending to. Given your levels of combat surpass adequate, you are naturally the most suitable candidate for this task.”  

At the allegation his skills weren’t _leagues_ above adequate, Lotor tilts his head. Kolivan is constantly testing Lotor. Considering the situation, it’s not surprising. An inescapable past is not without inescapable suspicions. Lotor has assimilated into this organisation, but his plans stretch much further than here. Growing ambition and personal conquests cut through any ropes that tether him to these people forever. Kolivan is bound to have noticed, hence the barrage of vigilance and an insistence to keep him close.

Usually, there is far more tact when words become the blades they wield. Their previous exchange had proven that. Now, by comparison, Kolivan is resorting to backhanded swerves and crude pitfalls. It’s realms away from the refined kind conversational conflict Lotor takes pleasure in entertaining.

But if anything, the shift is revealing.

Keith could be the one undoing they share.

“I am aware. Though context would be desirable in order to achieve the best results.”  

Kolivan blinks slowly. A sigh that cannot be disguised is drawn from his lips. Evidently, his austerity is weathered by Lotor’s patient persistence.

“Voltron was formed in Keith’s absence. The black lion took Shiro as a pilot once more.”

“The Champion rises to power even outside the arena, it seems...” Lotor muses.

Sharply, Kolivan spins on his heel to face Lotor. As he does, something slips out of place. He moves with such animated ferocity it almost startles Lotor. _Almost._ Quickly, he works to identify what flashes in Kolivan’s eyes, to understand what exactly caused such an uncharacteristic reaction.

He’s unsuccessful.

“I would advise against probing.” Before Lotor has an opportunity to do just that, _probe,_ Kolivan presses on. “Now we ought to discuss why you’re here.”

“Please proceed. I am most intrigued,” Lotor coos, head dipping a fraction.

It should hold the sincerity of a bow, but deliberately lacks the grace for it. Perhaps it’s underhanded, but Kolivan is giving him very little to work with. Thus, he’s grown irritated at best. Kolivan’s composure is tightly wound back into neat formation. The unravelling is over before it even begun, and Lotor has learnt nothing in the face of this golden opening.

“Keith will be arriving in a few vargas. He is to train with you.”

Lotor often oversees training, sometimes partaking in it himself. But this is different. It’s the first time he’s been given absolute control of anyone’s training. Lotor knows better than to assume this privilege is born from complete trust. Kolivan is always resourceful, making the best use of the agents he has. It’s undeniable that Lotor is the most skilled in combat. But still, something deeper runs through this. Hitting the mark isn’t difficult.

After all, _they’re dealing with Keith._

Whilst he has yet to spend any quality time with Keith unmasked, he too has glimpsed it: the unspeakable volume of promise within Keith. He is a star on the edge of the most spectacular supernova. Lotor recalls the way he stepped forwards to follow through with Thace’s plan when things were compromised.

_No one’s commanding me, I’m doing it._

From that moment, Lotor had sensed how unique Keith is in his design.

He’s brazen, unapologetically so. Keith is carved from molten rock that should crumble but doesn’t. It defies logic yet still follows it without contention. No matter what pressure he is subjected to, no matter what demons are sent to best him, Keith continues to fight and make his stand against the empire. He sits perilously on the edge of his own plight, risking everything for the sake of universal peace. And there is _so much more_ Lotor has yet to unpick. 

Above all, every fibre of Keith is absolutely fascinating. He is a puzzle waiting to be solved. More, he _yearns_ to be understood.

Keith is perhaps one of the greatest mysteries Lotor has ever encountered.

“You believe he has potential to be your eventual successor,” Lotor confirms.

“I don’t recall asking for your interpretation of these events,” Kolivan says whilst retreating towards the door. “I’ll be waiting to hear the outcome of your session.”

Despite the victory, Lotor doesn’t feel as if he’s won.

♝

As Keith walks, he walks with purpose. That, amongst a multitude of other things, alerts Lotor to his presence. Even in the absence of a calling that had once belonged to him, Keith continues to chart his own course.

The universe handles him roughly, dealing an unfortunate series of cards. But much like Lotor, he continues to rise above. He puts into play his own moves, and abides by them. No matter what. It’s right there on display, his determination. And it has potency that can be brandished.

“Shall we begin?” Lotor asks, voice distorted by the mask he wears. The conviction is gratifying, as if erasing the truth. Nobody had to know he stewed over the right combination of words for a handful of dobashes before Keith’s arrival.

Wordlessly, Keith summons his blade. He gives a weak nod, as extra confirmation. And with that, they circle each other.

Two rapid parries in, Lotor knows this fight will be the most thrilling he’s had for months. Possibly years. Keith moves as his blade, not with it. The brutal raw honesty in every stroke has enough power to gut and cleave deeper into a foe’s defences.

Two more parries in, Lotor has enough information to begin his appraisal.

Keith is systematically relentless in his motions. He never repeats his patterns, never lets himself fall into a comfortable pace. His moves are fluent, a language forged by his own instincts. That gives an initial layer of unpredictability. And if one is unprepared for such biting passion paired with this, the foe will be caught off-guard within moments. If continuously unprepared, it could drive them to the point of physical and emotional exhaustion from the sheer force of his attacks.  

“Your resolve is quite formidable,” Lotor dodges Keith’s hit, spinning round to meet the next one. Their blades collide with a resounding clang. “But your technique is rather unrefined.”  

“We’ll see about that,” Keith spits, pushing back against Lotor’s blade.  

There’s a brilliant furnace of fortitude behind his eyes. So much fierce intent lingers there, it’s difficult to look away from. Lotor can feel the heat, and he surges forwards to meet it willingly. They spring apart, and Lotor doesn’t wait to charge straight back into the core of it. It’s exhilarating in a way he can’t fully articulate, because he can’t truly _grasp_ it yet. All he is certain of is that Keith’s presence is overpowering. Gosh, it’s a magnificent fight.

Keith keeps him continuously alert throughout their duel. Lotor deflects the handful of oncoming hits, but not with his usual ease. Keith’s skill proves to be far from unrefined. It’s impressive, enough to have Lotor’s immaculate footing slip out of place on numerous occasions. The second he does slip, the retaliating force is supermassive. Keith is attentive, observant beyond the initial expectations.

Despite this, Keith is not infallible. His focus is sharp, but there is a lack of clarity in surprising places. The faults are hidden well by remarkable confidence. Keith wields his instincts effortlessly, mastering not just the weapon of his blade but the weapon of time.

Seconds of respite are far and few between. The unyielding barrage of attacks easily could back any opponent into a corner where the primal urge to defend mars all judgement. Those survival instincts can be detrimental when not harnessed as well as Keith’s own.

But therein lies a mistake: he holds nothing back.

Keith is remarkably open when he fights. His body screams, his face bleeds expression. Against the wrong person, Lotor concludes quickly this modus operandi may be tragically damning. No attempts are made at forming a shield to his character, there is no careful guarding of his soul and what lies beneath the armour. There is only a blade tinged in fire, an insatiable insistence to win, and an astonishing display of the essence that is seared into his very being.

In this fight alone, Lotor has discovered more insight to Keith than any dialogue could ever reveal.

“If there were any doubts of your heritage, then I’m certain this battle has incinerated them.” Smirking, Lotor sidesteps Keith’s blade. Words seem to be a distraction for Keith, unwanted and the source of much frustration. That is cause to continue. “You fight just like a Galra.”

Something instantly shifts. Those words are a catalyst, an opening Lotor needs to meticulously peel away Keith’s attention. Keith is held together with such brittle defence. He can decorate his demeanour to seem impenetrable and strong, but Lotor knows this stance too well. He has built such walls before, knows exactly how to breach them. Keith pours so much into this private fortress, even when it will come to fail him.

Now, the foundations are trembling in Lotor’s palms. He squeezes tight, and the end comes exactly as expected.

It’s not disappointing, more concerning.

Keith’s eyes darken in the face of his own reckoning, lips twisting. He charges forwards without hesitation, right into the ruins of his composure. It’s a complete regression. As he moves, he’s consumed by the fire that once served him. Now it betrays him, igniting each attack with reckless erraticism. That sharp focus buckles from his own overexertion.

And before Lotor has Keith on his back, blade pressing into Keith’s chest, he is certain of this victory. Because Keith has proven to be honest in a way that is both refreshing and entirely dangerous to himself.

In the final few moments, Keith has succumbed to his emotions.

“It appears I stand corrected, your technique is most impressive.”

Lifting his mask, Lotor meets Keith head on with no shield. It’s a risk, one Kolivan will disapprove of. But Keith is part Galra, just like him. Any differences in their appearance can be categorised as such. Staring down at his defeated opponent, Lotor prods insistently with the blade. Keith clenches his fists by his side. He’s breathless and gasping for air, but somehow undeterred.

Even when defeated, Keith refuses to yield. It’s a spectacular sight. Completely mesmerising. Keith’s gaze continues to burn as the blade drags up his chest.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he counters in the most delightful way. There’s a rasp shredding his words in half, adding further heat to them. He’s sincere, but disgruntled about his position. What’s more, he’s _still fighting_. Sprawled across the floor, Keith still endeavours to hold his ground. Lotor has never had an opponent so beautifully stubborn.

“However,” Lotor moves slowly, with pronounced purpose. The tip of the blade catches on Keith’s suit, coming close to making a tear. With remarkable defiance, Keith pushes up against the blade and lets it graze harder. Lotor is then compelled to persist in his motions. “It is most foolish to let words influence your disposition in combat. Not to mention, there is much to be improved upon in that area specifically.”

Lips twitching, he gives a light tap between the juncture of Keith’s neck and collarbone. “You are entirely transparent.”

Keith narrows his eyes, seeming to understand the implication. In battle, that exact blow would kill him, assisted by words that aimed to decimate. He’s been disarmed. Not by a silver blade but by a silver tongue. But Keith says nothing more, eyes crawling up the blade to finally settle on Lotor’s face.

Oh.

Suddenly, that really is just too much. The smouldering curiosity has Lotor’s breath hitching in a way so very unexpected. Unexpected, but not _unwelcome._ Once again he’s been unhinged by a realisation: Keith has been assessing him, exactly the same way Lotor is assessing Keith. There’s every chance he has come to his own conclusions throughout their duel.

Withdrawing the blade, Lotor extends a hand. Keith takes it with a grunt. Considering the intensity of the fight, Lotor shouldn’t be so thrown by the firm grip. But he is. It’s peculiar. All of this is peculiar. In contrast to their battle, Keith doesn’t strike back. His words aren’t wasted, they are chosen for specific moments.

Lotor glances down at their hands, unwilling to break the contained quiet of this aftermath. Keith’s thumb swipes in motion with his eyes, and Lotor can’t tell if the gesture is intentional. Keith seems unfazed, not drawing any attention to it. His focus is elsewhere. Their eyes collide once more; it all falls into place. _Ah, he’s considering._

Yes… that’s it. There is a pragmatism to Keith that the fierce pace of their battle concealed. Watching him now, Lotor can’t quite believe he missed it.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Keith finally asks.

He seems transfixed, intent on getting answers as his eyes roam across Lotor’s face. Appreciatively, perhaps. Keith appears to be the sort to give credit where it’s due.

“I’ve endured a lifetime of combat training,” Lotor admits whilst prying their hands apart.

Fingers twitch in a way so very unbecoming the second he does. Closing his fist to purge the sensation will discredit his recent victory. So instead, he presses his palm into his thigh. Nails scrape across the suit. It’s grounding, dispelling a fraction of the elation inhibiting his ability to gauge this whole conversation.

“Teach me.”

It’s not a question or a request. There’s a challenge there, daring Lotor to decline. Whilst Lotor has no intention of doing so, he finds the push and pull enthralling.

“Very well. Let us start with dissecting this fight.” Gesturing to the bench, Lotor sits. After a moment of pinched silence, Keith joins him. There’s a conspicuous distance put between them, enough to be deliberate. “My words fazed you.”

Up until that point, Keith had managed to hold his own fairly well. Eyes averting, Keith bites down on his lip. Hard. That’s enough proof Lotor is right.

“Perhaps it was my calling you Galra,” Lotor hums. “To which I will say there is nothing inherently wrong with that.”

“I - I know.” Keith is too quick in his insistence, the urgency reveals everything. It snaps like elastic, leaving a bitter sting. And Lotor wonders again about the circumstances that brought Keith here, what happened with his team. Despite wishing to know, he puts that aside for a moment. Keith’s shoulders lock, and it’s worse than if he were to slump dejectedly.

A thought far too relatable comes to mind. It’s unshakable.

He’s still fighting, even now.

Maybe Keith has never stopped fighting.

“We both are both part Galra. It is not something to be ashamed of, but something we ought to embrace.”

“It’s not that. Not exactly.” So that _is_ a part of it, then. Keith still struggles to truly accept his heritage. Being plunged into a war where the enemy are Galra, and the allies are often vehemently against the concept of the Galra having _any_ redeeming traits, Lotor can understand that. It’s easier to vilify an entire race, it makes good and evil something tangible rather than a fanciful illusion.

“When I-” cutting himself off, Keith folds his arms across his chest. Another wall. Lotor waits patiently, recalling Kolivan’s warning of probing. Keith shuts his eyes, exhaling sharply. “When I fought Zarkon, he said the same thing. I mean, he said that I… fight like a Galra soldier.”   

Mention of Zarkon has Lotor faltering.

“ _You_ fought Zarkon?” The fact Keith is still sat here - _alive -_  is an impossibility set against such a statement. No matter how impressive Keith’s skills may be, there is no universe where he could stand a chance of winning at his current level. It simply is far too unrealistic. And surviving such a fight cannot have been without grave consequences.

“Yeah.”

Keith’s expression hardens. The line of his mouth goes taunt, hands clasped together. There’s a weighted pause which follows his words. Lotor can only guess he is _considering_ something again. Nails tapping the bench, he watches the former paladin mull it over.

It’s quite the sight. Keith’s face is a kaleidoscope, emotions exploding into dynamic expressions over his skin. His body language is the same. Keith’s lips twist, and his entire demeanour twists with it. His eyebrows tug together, and everything shrivels. The display is visceral just to _watch,_ yet alone experience. Part of Lotor is unsure if he _should_ be watching.

When Keith’s eyes dart back up to meet him, Lotor is struck by the tenacity there.

“I fought your father.”

Lotor will never admit that he splutters clumsily, almost falling off his seat in surprise. But there’s no denying the accusation, Keith gives Lotor nowhere to hide. As if that wasn’t enough, Keith leans forwards with intent. Suddenly, he’s alarmingly close.

“You’re Prince Lotor,” Keith says with incredible conviction. “You’re the one they’re searching for.”

Once again, there is nowhere to hide. To press his back against the wall and surrender would be defeat. Much like Keith had done sprawled on the floor, Lotor inches closer to the source of his undoing. Suddenly, they’re closer.

“It was not my intention to actively deceive you with my identity. I assure you, I have been long detached from my father and his tyranny.”

“What happened?”

Raising his chin, Lotor averts his gaze. It's the best chance he has at self-preservation. Keith has already found his way inside deeper than most.

“Much like yourself, I had a team.” Keith visibly finches. The reaction is interesting enough for Lotor to test one final theory. Underhanded duplicity may be required if he is to figure out more of this intricate puzzle, and Keith is so gloriously _responsive._ It would be a waste of an opportunity if he didn’t at least try to get answers. “Regardless, I found myself alone.”

The results are unexpected.

“I’m sorry.” Keith sounds strained, _looks_ pained. Not for himself, _for Lotor._ It’s so astoundingly selfless.

Chest tightening, Lotor clears his throat. He isn't looking for pity, he’s looking for pieces to make sense of. But upon closer inspection, he finds pity is not what Keith is offering. Far from it, in fact. The sincerity of these condolences is _too much._ Before Lotor can craft his cunning reply, the scheme he has only just _started_ devising splinters. 

Of course, his attempts at this game had been half-hearted from the start. Keith has plucked the same sincerity from him with terrifying ease.

Lotor sighs in resignation. Pursuing this avenue is dangerous. His last resort is to settle for something contrived.  

“It was inevitable, but I had hoped the bonds we forged would withstand any trials we faced.” His eyes widen as the words sink in. _He means them._ Entirely. Keith's hand hovers, as if unsure whether to reach out and touch. Head bowed, he settles with squeezing the bench tightly.

“I thought so too.” It's just four words, but they're invaluable. Lifting his head, Keith sucks in a sharp breath. “At least you're not alone in that.”

Lotor blinks. This is evermore confusing. Keith is not confiding in Lotor, he is comforting him. He has chosen to share something personal, and not even truly for himself. _For Lotor._ He had an opportunity to take and take. He could take answers, take information, take secrets - _demand them._ But he doesn’t take.

Keith gives.

He has given so much consistently. For the war, for his team, for this mission. Lotor can see the duality now: of fighting and of giving. Even here, sat with the son of _Zarkon,_ that is palpable. Keith fights for the cause, but he gives for the individuals. It’s so honourable, the kind of moral code lost in the fabric of time.

With a shrug that proves too heavy to execute true nonchalance, Lotor fabricates it. _He has to_. There’s a pressing ache in his bones, bruising guilt. Keith deserves reciprocation. But Lotor cannot allow the incessant torrent of noise within to drown him, he cannot give the same way Keith gives.

After all, what does he truly have to give?  

“This place was to be my rebirth.” It’s not entirely honest, but holds some truths. There’s enough for Keith to work with, enough for Lotor to regain a more comfortable position where he isn’t compromised.

“It still can be,” Keith states firmly, and Lotor hears it once more. _Keith is giving him a chance._

He's listening with open ears and watching with unbiased eyes. Raking a hand through his hair, Lotor laughs. Someone like Keith shouldn’t have survived in such a universe as apathetic as this, shouldn’t even exist. _But he does exist_.  

“You’re extraordinary.” He means it, despite it being a desperate attempt to shift focus.

Keith frowns, not taking well to the flattery. He’s relentless in staying on task, sensing the deviation. “I’m being serious.”

“In any case,” standing, Lotor brushes down his suit. “it would be advisable to keep this between ourselves, one would not want to cause a revolt within the rebel forces over my upbringing.”

With that, Lotor makes haste to the door. He needs to leave. He has to leave before-

“Wait!” Keith calls out to his surprise. Lotor comes to a halt, eyes fixed on the door ahead. He doesn't have to look to know Keith's grimacing, the strain in his voice paints the expression well enough.

“Kolivan trusts you enough to be here. It doesn’t matter where you came from, only where you are now.”

That has Lotor stealing a glance over his shoulder, just in time to see Keith gesturing towards the blade strapped to his belt.

“That right there proves it.”

Oh dear.

Lotor has been betrayed. But the betrayal isn’t by Keith’s hand, it’s his own doing. Lotor has sabotaged himself. He has been so terribly foolish, not heeding his own warning: _an exposed back simply leaves greater exposure for a betrayal._

Here he stands, back completely exposed to Keith. And Keith strikes, unknowingly tethering Lotor to a rare vulnerability. It’s so intrusive, _so intense_ in a way that is impossibly inviting. That’s a good fit, because a lot about Keith seems impossible. He’s a parcel of paradoxes, and Lotor finds himself entangled further in all the layers.

Their eyes meet, and Lotor’s jaw clenches. He could fall further into whatever is transpiring right now, or retreat to higher ground for safety. For the first time since his own trial, Lotor doesn’t know which course of action is best.

“You trust me,” he breathes. The corners of his words soften without his permission. Embedded there is something tentative. And it’s with that Lotor realises that climbing to higher ground is futile, because he _wants_ for this to be true.

He wants Keith to trust him.

It doesn’t make any logical sense, for Keith to really trust him. Yet hope builds in abundance, it flutters viciously between his ribs. From everything Lotor has seen, Keith makes judgements based on people’s current actions, not their personal circumstances. Their past, and whatever variables are shackled to their shadows, are one part of a bigger picture.

Keith smiles, and it’s far too disarming. “I’d like to.”

Spine locking, Lotor unfurls himself into a more rigid stance. Those words have his mind reeling. They’re direct, _earnest._ It’s uncomfortable, the tension coiling in his stomach.

_I’d like to._

“As would I,” he responds, only to realise his mistake too late. “I mean, I would like for that to become a reality. For _you_ to trust me. Saying ‘as would I’ infers that I would like to trust myself rather than have you trust me. If I were to add the ‘you’ and make it ‘ _as would I you’,_ then that would have conveyed my intentions to return the sentiment, because I would like to trust you implicitly also. But instead of any of that, we are left with a gaping miscommunication.”

Keith’s lips twitch. He doesn’t laugh, but the bemusement at Lotor’s spiel on grammar is clear.

That is most definitely a cue to end this for today.

“We’ll resume training tomorrow.”

Nodding, Keith seems unsure where to place himself. He glances quietly between the doorway and Lotor. Before things can spiral further, Lotor leaves. Briskly, he walks down the corridor. There’s a restless rhythm beating in his chest. His heart stutters on the frantic pulse, chasing down things he cannot acknowledge. The feeling is sickening, overwhelming in its abrupt presence.

He’s emotionally dishevelled.   

Honestly, this is far more than he could have ever prepared for. Kolivan’s words are foreboding now in their irony: _this is not a personal affair._ Air slithers out between his pursed lips, hissing. Not a personal affair. It’s laughable, to think but a few vargas ago Lotor had believed it. For himself, and for Kolivan. But that is far from the case.

Keith has left his mark. Lotor already is yearning for their next meeting before Keith’s sincere intensity fades into a mere memory etched into his skin. That will not do, for no memory of Keith before today had ever compared to the real thing.

“Is everything alright, Heramthris?”

Broken from his thoughts, Lotor blinks away his momentary exhilaration. Heramthris is a name that will never truly feel his own. But for the sake of keeping both himself and the Blade and Mamora safe, an alias is one of the many precautions Kolivan insisted upon. Glancing towards the source of the voice, Lotor hums. Of course. _Speaking of Kolivan…_

“There is no need for concern.” Perhaps he’s tempting fate, but for the sake of maintaining appearances Lotor continues. “Though if you’re heading towards the training room, I’m afraid Keith has already departed.”  

“It must have been recently,” Kolivan muses.

“It was,” Lotor confirms, a touch exasperated. He can’t see where Kolivan is steering them, what his incentive is. The lack of hindsight is an annoyance, pushing him further to regain true balance. “Were you watching the session?”

_I certainly hope you weren’t watching._ Lotor chides himself for not considering it enough of a possibility to check beforehand. Because _beforehand,_ he had been dutifully rehearsing his opening words to Keith.

It’s truly absurd. This entire thing. It’s just fantastically absurd.

“No,” Kolivan responds, and that’s a relief. Patting Lotor’s shoulder in a manner far too jovial and out of place for such a trivial discussion, Kolivan delivers his parting words. “But I gathered from your countenance it was a success.”

_Countenance._

Before Lotor can question that, _what that insinuates,_ Kolivan is walking away. Part of him wonders if it’s a deliberate counterattack, that Kolivan is returning the favour for earlier. Still, the curiosity will not subside. His fingers ghost across his lips, spreading out towards the grooves in his cheeks. Lotor’s eyes widen when he finds it, the source of Kolivan’s private amusement. It’s subtle, but it’s there. He can feel it, the warmth it brings.

And it’s in that moment Lotor realises the severity of this situation. He is dealing with a problem far bigger than he could have ever predicted.

Lotor is smiling.


End file.
